


witchy business

by MaddestMaid3n



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddestMaid3n/pseuds/MaddestMaid3n
Summary: "A little birdie told me you might have a book or two that might pique my interest,”“Well, that depends on your interests,"Caroline's just trying to survive Marcel's New Orleans. Colluding with an Original was so not on her to-do list.
Relationships: Caroline Forbes/Klaus Mikaelson
Comments: 35
Kudos: 200





	1. Chapter 1

Monsters seem real at night. When lights are dimmed low and the ticking of a clock is the loudest sound in your house, the fantastical seems plausible and demons threaten to slide across the kitchen floor. The threat is tangible up until the moment you flip the light switch or the dawn casts rays on the bedcovers. Then, the fear dissipates and the day covers its tracks. That was the beauty of humanity, monsters were as real as you let them be. 

But what if you’re a monster? The stuff of burnings and the reason God’s careful eyes skip over Louisiana. What helps you when you’re afraid?

What helps when the Devil himself has just sauntered into your shop? 

The sound of the chimes above the door had put a ghost of a smile on her lips as she thumbed through the week’s order receipt. The shipment was already unpacked but it never hurt to be thorough. Daily operations were hardly overwhelming for a usual bookshop, but the responsibilities of running an illicit one chock full of banned lore and spellwork could make her head spin. Running her eyes quickly through the final titles, Caroline laid the clipboard at the register before turning to greet the newcomer.

“Good morning! Welcome to Circe’s Atheneaum, how can I --” Later, much later and following a steaming bath and glass of wine, she could admit that the sight of him had made her hiccup mid-welcome. 

Older than the city itself, Niklaus Mikaelson had long been a whispered feature in the worst bedtime stories that few dared to tell and he had just arrived in the city not two months earlier. With a public embrace, the vampire kingpin Marcel let the big bad into New Orleans. While the Original’s hands have been relatively clean for a vampire so far in his stay, the few instances of his wrath spread like wildfire and reminded wolves, witches and vampires alike why creatures like him lasted centuries. He had a penchant for theatrics (painting the walls in blood was not only horrifying, but Caroline was certain that it was also completely unhygienic) and a horrible handle on his temper. All the more reason why she would prefer him to be anywhere but her store.

“Caroline Forbes, I presume?”

She catches his eyes, bemused and vivid, before anything else. “Yes,” The word comes out less smoothly than she had hoped. 

With light brown curls and dimples following a polite smile, he didn’t look the part of a psycho old man. Hands clasped behind him, stretching a gray Henley under a black leather jacket, as his gaze turned to the store itself. The freshest fiction and non-fiction lined the walls of two stories. A spiral staircase led up to a terrace for reading and below to the basement, which was _ most certainly  _ not housing any witchy materials since any practice was outlawed in town. “A little birdie told me you might have a book or two that might pique my interest,”

Damn it. “Well, that depends on your interests,” Flicking her blond hair over her shoulder, she walked past him to the Bestsellers section. Playing dumb might not be the perfect strategy, but it could at least buy a moment or two to weigh the present options. There didn’t seem to be many that didn’t involve her surviving a confrontation without some part of her stockpile, assuming any of protective spells could work against a hybrid. Then there would be Marcel to deal with. “Are you looking for a thriller? Something to keep you up at night?” He watched her pick up a Nora Roberts cover, “How do you feel about some romance?”

Stepping forward to meet her outstretched hand, he grabbed the book and his fingers brushed lightly against her own. Just briefly, for barely a second, her hand tensed. Nonetheless, aged and agile as he is, he caught the movement and the smile broke wider. “An inspiring read, I’m sure, love,” The words rolled out like silk and goosebumps covered her skin where they touched. “However, I’m here for something a bit older, say by six centuries or so.”

Still searching for something clever enough to sidestep this entire situation, she measured the next sentence carefully, “Magic and anything tied to it are banned, so the only person in this entire city who could possibly have something like that is your bestie.”

He flipped through the pages of the paperback, brows scrunched and seemingly appalled at its contents, “What  _ could be _ and what  _ is  _ can be very different things,”

She crossed her arms over her chest and ignored her rising heart rate. “What is the  _ reality _ is that any magicking means certain death, a quick one being a blessing. I assume you have seen the macabre displays Marcel has made of disobedient witches,” The last sentence left her tongue with a bitter taste and steeled her blood. The coven had lost too many good men and women over this arcane system and their final screams left more than a few with night terrors. Even in normal circumstances, vampires rubbed witches the wrong way, but ones like Marcel made her boil with fire, emotional and literal. But if the stories had any truth in them, Mikaelson was so much worse.

“I am not Marcel, sweetheart,” When he saw that she remained unflinching, he closed the book and offered it back, “His methods are intemperate, but you’ll have to forgive him for his short-sightedness. It’s his youth,”

Scoffing at how anyone could call a centuries-old man young, she took the book back and returned it to its stand, “Forgive  _ me _ if I wouldn’t risk my life over nice words,” She added quickly, “Even if I knew what you are talking about,”

Sighing as if disappointed in her, he took a step closer, “I would much prefer your cooperation, but I must point out that your collection is quite clearly downstairs. This conversation is rather a courtesy than a request,”

Defensive spells were out of the question, unfortunately. Magic was outlawed and, for some godforsaken reason, Marcel could trace it minutes within its use. Witches were forced to practice in other cities, careful of the boundaries of his jurisdiction. However, old magic as in old curses and old spells could thrum along undetected if left undisturbed by Marcel or witches. Old magic like the one that made her shop special enough to have lasted generations. The deed went from new owner to new owner, last trading from the Bennetts to the Forbes.  _ There it is _ , a smile tugged at her lips.

Matching his step, she brought herself closer. With kindling smugness, she said, “As a courtesy, I guess I should tell you that there’s no way you or any other member of the undead nation is getting into my basement,”

No doubt listening to her pulse for traces of deception, he took a moment to respond. The wheels turned quickly in his head. When he finally answered, she was caught off guard by the look of respect growing on him, “A loophole. Well, well, now you really have piqued my interest,” A moment’s pause and his eyes ran over her as if to reappraise the young witch, “Perhaps this would capture Marcel’s interest as well. Flaws in the system must be corrected, naturally,” The threat sounded sweet with his accent.

“Seriously?” She raised an eyebrow, slightly disbelieving the shortsightedness, “You do realize if you get me killed, then you will never get into that basement, right?”

The cool composure dropped and his irises turned a shocking golden hue. A spike of adrenaline shot through her. Swallowing the realization that sassing one of the original vampires may have been shortsighted on her part (Bonnie did always tell her that she never knew when to shut up), she held her stance and stared back at him defiantly. Caroline Elizabeth Forbes refused to be bullied in her own freakin’ store. No, if she was going to go out, she would go out strong and, if necessary, scratching. 

Supernatural hearing wasn’t necessary to hear the thumping of her heart, and he seemed to be weighing his own options. Veins protruding from under his eyes, he let out a soft sigh. In another moment’s breath, traces of the monster had disappeared into a charming man. The phrase devil in sheep’s clothing did not do him justice. 

“It would be so tedious to go through the trouble of threatening your friends and family,” This was said matter-of-factly, as if he had better things to do with his time. “Let’s skip the boring details, love. You grab me what I need and I won’t paint the town bloody red,”

Handing centuries of knowledge over to the incarnate of evil sounded like the least appealing offer ever. That’s including Tyler’s offer of make-up sex in his truck at Grad Ball. Those books carried spells and herbal combinations that haven’t been researched since their writing. Was she supposed to give them to him in an honor system? _ Oh yes, these will be due in two weeks. The fee for later return is first five dollars and then ten dollars for every week late. _

“I have a counter-offer,” 

“I didn’t realize this was a negotiation,” She didn’t know much about vampires, but she knew when she caught a man’s interest. 

“If you tell me what you’re looking for, I can make a copy for you. That way, the originals stay here, but you get whatever it is you need. We go our separate ways. You don’t tell Marcel about the store, and I don’t tell Marcel about this conversation,”

“Now, why would I worry about that?” A glimmer of a warning passed over his face.

Ignoring her better sense, she continued, “You already knew magic is banned. You knew about this library before waltzing in today, but you haven’t told Marcel yet. Otherwise, my shop would be burned to the ground and my legs would be swinging from the charred rafters,” She almost flinched at her own visceral description, realizing how very real that possibility was, “But my store and I are still standing, which leads me to believe that whatever I have, whatever it is you want, is something you have no intention of sharing with him,”

He was quiet, less fuming and more so amused.

“I don’t care what you want to do with the information,” She shrugged. It was true, vampire politicking bored her beyond belief. In fact, turmoil for Marcel would only benefit her and her coven, so he had her blessing, “I go my way and you go yours,”

“I see you have it all worked out,” He considered her, “But what’s stopping you from playing both sides? Running your beautiful mouth the moment I leave?”

“I somehow a doubt my word would be enough,” 

“Perhaps something else,” His eyes glittered, “Final offer, love. As well-versed as I am in witchcraft, I am still in need of some translation and technical expertise,”

“I highly doubt you need much help,” She scoffs, arms returning to their folded position across her chest, “So, that’s your insurance? Make me an accomplice to whatever risky business this is,” 

“I don’t see many other solutions,” 

And for the hell of it, she couldn’t see any wiggle room out of this either. It was a horrible set of choices before her: the devil you know that flambeed your family or the devil in your store with notorious anger issues. 

“Fine,” 

“Perfect,” His grin was wolfish, “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. It’s Klaus,”


	2. Chapter 2

The flames licked against her fingertips like dogs lapping at water. Magic thrumming dissatisfied and hungry in her veins, a hand hovered over the candle and she barely recognized the trails of heat against her skin. Expression motionless, she studied the final paragraph and carefully transcribed its contents onto a notepad. This task would have been much quicker with a proper scanner, but the coven’s limited budget meant expensive archival technology was out of the question. As sore as her hand felt the morning after, she prefered it this way. The book stayed free for her to study, unencumbered by an impatient and threatening member of the undead.

The weight of their meeting from almost two weeks before sat heavily on her chest, constricting her breath with guilt, doubt and the smallest amount of fear. After writing down the book’s title, he had left her store as quickly as he had entered. Moments later, she had let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes, resting a hand over her frantic heart.  _ No good is going to come out of this _ , she could hear Bonnie chiding her. Her roommate and best friend was the perfect person to know how to fight an Original, but her moral compass was unwavering. She would not only disapprove, but would consult the others. That and a genuine fear for her life had stopped Caroline from spilling out every detail over dinner later that night. 

“Care, is everything alright?” Sliding into her seat at the table, Bonnie’s warm eyes had scrutinized her red cheeks.

The scalding bubble bath and pre-dinner glass of wine had failed to sooth her nerves. She couldn’t scrub away the ghost of his touch on her hand, no matter how hard she tried. Putting on a smile, she answered, “Of course. It was just delivery day. You know how boring that can be,”

Concern abating, Bonnie had nodded and started carving into the grilled chicken dinner, “I would trade with you in a heartbeat. I had to correct undergrad essays. You wouldn’t believe how many kids thought they were above basic grammar.”

Scoffing, Caroline took another sip of wine. The liquid flowed like a familiar river and she took some small comfort in that. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Did you end up seeing Grams today?”

Sheila Bennett, or Grams as she was affectionately called by any of Bonnie’s closest friends, was one of the most powerful witches in Louisiana. Living just outside Marcel’s perimeter, she spent much of her time in the city, keeping her eyes open and ears on the ground of the city’s supernatural underworld. 

“No, but I’m supposed to grab coffee with her tomorrow afternoon,” 

Caroline continued as she cut into her food, “How has she been managing? I mean, it’s been a bit chaotic since the hybrid came.”

“It’s been a challenge. The younger witches are getting antsy, but she and the others have been keeping everyone in line,” 

Acting nonchalant, she had said, “I can’t understand what Klaus or any Mikaelson would want from the city,”

“Grams says it’s anyone's guess. Originals act like old gods, powerful and petty. They could massacre a city if someone spilled a drink on them. If we’re lucky, it’s just that he’s run out of places to visit,” Bonnie’s dark curls danced back and forth as she shook her head just slightly. The frustration at the city’s status quo ran deep between the witches and had so for generations at this point. To hide themselves from humanity was one sacrifice, an old one that irritated like a buzzing insect, but to be bent and shaped at the will of Marcel Gerard has been a crucifixion with no end. Every few decades, a faction would grow restless and chafed at the vampire’s chains on them. They conspired, they plotted outside the city with a coup d’etat at the forefront of their mind. No matter the confidence, no matter the coordination to tiptoe outside his detection, they all ended with the same bloody spectacles, different only in the fashion Marcel chose to parade the rebel corpses.

The dinner conversation rang in Caroline’s ears the next morning as she looked at her handiwork. Klaus hadn’t given her any insight into why he needed this book and he had left her no means to contact him. Although she had not heard from him or seen that piercing gaze in her shop, she wasn’t so naive to think that he had left her alone. In the past two weeks, as she tended to her bookstore, scanning and sorting books, she felt  _ watched.  _ The broad storefront windows had always brought in some onlookers, the locals (human and inhuman alike) and tourists if they wandered deep enough, so curious eyes were not new. No, this was different. When the streets were empty during those calm interim hours, her skin prickled with goosebumps and she flipped her attention quickly outside, as if she’d catch him across the street. She never did, and the sensation would quickly fade, but it would be back again sometime the next day.

Slim blinding, his book began with alchemical symbols and a faintly religious rant. It was unsuspecting at first. In all her studies of the lore, such texts were the norm. Witchcraft could be a religion in itself, but most of the ancestors found ways to entangle their supernatural veins with the spiritual ethos of the times. Caroline often thanked the stars that she avoided the Puritans because an ascetic lifestyle would have driven her to the stake long before the locals did. Switching between three different languages, the book was dated from the early 13th century and intermixed with contemporary tales and spellwork. Were it not for the linguistic barrier, it was a pretty dry read, especially considering she didn’t really know what she was looking for.

The sound of the store’s bell ringing, softly echoing down to where she sat, indicated that she was no longer alone and the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach indicated that it was  _ him _ . The clock ticked softly with its small hand moving closer to ten, right on time.

Vampires make witches’ skin crawl. It’s a general law of nature, beings that have access to the thrum of life forces hardly mesh well with beings thriving on dead people’s blood. When possible, the two species avoided each other like the plague, but New Orleans was a hotbed for intermixing and they grew accustomed to the bitter taste of the undead in the air. The memory of her first run-in at five years old, when her father had taken her to grab ice cream outside the Quarter, was seared in her brain.

_ Pistachio? _ Her small tongue had tripped over the word, but her dismay was obvious in any language. 

Her father had appraised his skeptical child with arms crossed over her pink floral dress. Having peered through the glass, she had had her eyes set on the rainbow flavor and was certain that nothing could taste better than a rainbow. Bill Forbes wasn’t a soft man, but he became something like that when he was with his daughter.  _ Trust me, princess. _

Young Caroline had kept the doubtful look on her face as the teen employee passed her father two cones with one scoop of bright green ice cream in each. Before she could take her first taste, the bells above the door had given a melodic note and, at the same time, a strange coldness along her spine, as if a bitter winter draft had swept through in June. 

_ Excuse me,  _ Caroline had looked up and caught the eyes of a red haired young woman. Beautiful, that’s what she remembered thinking to herself. The woman’s eyes had been a sharp green and her skin looked soft like porcelain. She had given Caroline a half-smile and the little girl had almost returned it. Suddenly, her dad had tugged hard at her hand, almost causing her to drop her ice cream. 

_ Daddy, it hurts! _ She had cried out, but he wouldn’t look down at her. His face was set like stone and the look in his eyes was unfamiliar and scary. Liz had wanted to wait until she was older, a teen at least, to tell Caroline about everything, about all the things that go bump in the night. After that moment, though, her father insisted that no daughter of his would be so ignorant of the truth. People could call her many things, but no one could call her ignorant anymore.

“It’s bad form to make a customer wait,” The voice carried down the stairs, bringing with it every bit of the reality of her situation. 

Grabbing her notebook, Caroline extinguished the candle and headed up to the first floor. Hair pulled back in a messy bun, she still wore high rise jeans and a maroon blouse from the day’s work. Balancing covert research with the influx of teen girls looking for the latest dystopian novel had kept her busy and with little time to go home and relax before their meeting. She was positive that, even after she gave him what he wanted, it would take another week before she could sleep longer than four hours. 

When she arrived on the ground floor, she found the glow of the street lights flickering across the shelves but no Original. The chill spread further down her spine and she tried to swallow the simmering anxiety in her throat. “Hello?” She peered around another shelf, letting out a breath when she found it empty.

“Hello, love,” At the greeting, Caroline jumped and spun as quickly as possible. Leaning against the front desk, Klaus had his arms crossed in front of his chest. His face was covered in the shadows, but the faint yellow from the street revealed his black button-up rolled to his elbows. “What do you have for me?”

Hating the fact that she had to squint to try to make out his face, she answered honestly, “Not much, but I think it’s something. Can we get some light first, Nosferatu?”

She didn’t wait for a response, preferring to not sit and think about whether name-calling was the most diplomatic approach. There were few weapons at her disposal, that much had been clear the last time they had been together. If she could gather a fireball, then at least she could remind him that he wasn’t the only powerful thing in the room. But no, all she was left with was a quick tongue to remind him that she wasn’t his willing accomplice.

Caroline took a few steps around him and headed to the small back office. Flicking the switch on, she laid out her notes. She kept her face composed when she found him settled in the chair across from her. Nevertheless, her heart slammed roughly against her chest. “I looked through it. Twice. And there’s only one line that remotely fits what you’re looking for,”  _ Locations.  _ That’s all he told her when he slid the note into her hand. Their skin didn’t touch that time, but she could still feel the heat from his fingers.

Pointing to the bottom line of one of the lined pages, she continued, “I loosely translated it from a Proto-Indo-European language, and I can’t stress enough the word loosely,” Clearing her throat, she read, “ _ Where the sky slips and sleeps, so it will be/And no ripple breaks without blood,” _

It had taken many sleepless nights, straining her neck as she moved back and forth between the text and three different makeshift dictionaries, but she managed it. If she could do this, she carefully hoped that maybe there was hope that she could figure out something, anything, to help change New Orleans. The eager thought had run through her mind more than a few times as she made progress, followed by the reminder of first things first: get rid of the Original. 

Her gaze switched to Klaus, whose sea green eyes caught her own. Those eyes gave him away more so than anything else did. Sure, he moved like a predator, a lion shifting through the grassland with an ease that only comes from being king of the land. However, those sharp eyes belonged to another man, a wise and terrifying one beyond the twenty-something years his body had last lived as a human. Straightening her posture, Caroline pushed the paper towards him, “What do you think?

He peeled the paper off the table lightly, not immediately answering her, “Admittedly, I am impressed. I half-expected you to flee the city,”

She raised an eyebrow at him, “I didn’t think that could be an option,”

“It’s not,” He agreed lightly, as if the sentence itself didn’t carry every threat in it. “Although I have been thirsting for a good chase,” 

The memory of those hidden eyes washed over her. Caroline doubted she would have made it very far, unless he wanted her to. She refused to think about the stories the others had told about vampires who force their victims to run, those monsters who feasted on the pounding hearts and screams of people who knew they could not make it.

“What do you think it means?”  _ What is it for?  _ Curiosity had partially fuelled those long hours, but no matter how many times she scoured the book, there was no clear indication about who or what the line is referring to. Many of the stories mirrored others that she had grown up with. The same messages, wrapped in different details. The line she found had come at the start of another tale, a throwaway sentence to tell the reader that this is not the story you should pay attention to.

He didn’t answer, preferring to take the other pages from the desk and study them instead. She felt the pounding of her heart, increasing with irritation that she knew, she  _ knew _ , that she should quell. It wasn’t as if she expected any sort of thanks from a man blackmailing her into cooperation, but being ignored was genuinely one of her biggest pet peeves and the fact that it was this same asshole who had kept her on edge for two weeks that was ignoring her -- well, that just made her blood boil. 

The creaking of the pipes behind the back wall was the only sound for the next few minutes.

Taking in a deep, only slightly calming breath, Caroline spoke, “Is that everything?”

Finally, he looked up with the notes piled together in his hand, “It’s a good start,” Offering her a half-smile that was really more of a smirk, he continued, “I’ll be in contact,”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Her brow furrowed, but she felt her stomach drop, “I thought all you wanted was a translation,”

He titled his eyes to the papers before he deliberately began to roll them together. The act, which must cost him even less energy than it would a human, caused the ligaments on his hands to constrict and release enough for them to appear and disappear from his smooth skin. It was almost mesmerizing, but the whirl of emotions inside her kept her focused on what he said next, “I did, and you delivered marvelously, love. Now, I would like something else,” 

Her mind raced at a hundred miles per hour, “I can’t help with any magic. I already told you, Marcel would kill me and my family,” 

He huffed disapprovingly, but he still looked away, “I don’t need your magic. What I need is to know  _ where the sky slips and sleeps,”  _ The quote felt more poetic coming from his lips, “There are countless possibilities, and I need you to find the right one,”

She felt a roaring in her ears and it shouldn’t be surprising, it really shouldn’t. They devour, they destroy, that’s all these vampires do. The moment he walked in her shop, he dug his claws in and now all he is doing is tightening his grip.

“Like I said, I’ll be in touch,” He rose from the seat with a flourish that only comes with centuries of practice.

Emotion flooded her throat, threatening to pour out and she wanted to scream. She wanted to shred him to pieces and she wanted to destroy every godforsaken monster that was like him, “No,” 

At her voice, he paused and she caught the slight jerk of his chin, as if the word were in another language. 

“I am not your glorified secretary,” She stood up from her own seat, hands pressed flat against the wood to contain the rage that was building. It would do her no good to slip up, to let even a spark of magic escape, “You said you needed a translation, and I gave it to you. We’re done,”

With measured steps, he walked towards the desk. He matched her posture and his long fingers were dangerously close to hers. Despite the flips that her stomach was doing, she glared up at him and saw her form reflected in his eyes.

“Do you really think you have a choice?” He asked her softly, leaning close, “I know you want to kill me, but you know you can’t. You know that I’ll kill you first and then everyone you’ve ever met. It’s not even a chore to me,” He murmured, moving even closer. It took all her strength not to jerk back, “I enjoy it.”

Her chest heaved, full of vitriol and feeling every bit like a caged animal, “Go to hell,”  _ I’ll kill him, I swear to God I’ll kill him. _

“Keep the fury,” He told her. With a knowing smirk, he added, “Maybe I’ll let you have a chance,” 

He was gone the next second, leaving her alone with her boiling blood and the suddenly grating ticks of the clock. Caroline wasn’t too sure how long she stood there, eyes cemented to the spot where his hands had been as if looking for some imprint, some evidence of what had happened other than the chaos inside her.

She didn’t go home. Instead she got in her car and began to drive. It was too late to call Bonnie and she told her not to wait up, made up an excuse about a date with inventory. The grip on the wheel turned painful as she left the city limits, passing the sign that read “Welcome to New Orleans”. After that, she continued on for ten more miles before coming across a familiar truck stop, set close to a forest.

It was too early for the sun, and the stars littered the deep blue sky. There was only one other vehicle in the lot and she parked as far away as possible. Locking her car, she began towards the woods. There were no thoughts in her head, just images - red and bloody. There wasn’t a hiking trail, but she didn’t struggle finding her way over roots and rocks. Leaves stuck to her shoes as she traveled deeper and she barely noticed how the minutes passed.

Sometime later, she paused at a clearing. It was quiet save for the thrum of insects and her heavy breathing. Closing her eyes, the fury mounted and her fingers began to twitch. The night, the city, everything was right at the surface of her mind. Without anyone able to hear,  _ finally _ , and standing in the midst of the tall trees, Caroline let out a deep scream and the flames joined her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think of this installment! Good or bad! What do you think will happen next? Any other characters you hope to see join the story?


	3. Chapter 3

When her father tried to train her with blows to the stomach and screams that rattled her ribcage, he retold the covens’ dark history time and time again. Lest she forget the hell they were living in. How Marcel’s army had spent years on gory displays to discipline rebellious witches and wolves. How each rebellion was toppled like a house of cards and the insurgents were drained and devoured while the city was forced to watch.  _ Humans are lucky _ , Bill Forbes had spat. Compulsion meant they could just be forgetful cattle, while the victims’ families were forced to clean the streets.

_You will not be_ **that.** His only daughter, the last descendent of their bloodline, would not be clueless. She would not be weak. Vampires had taken everything, but they would not make a show of her. Caroline would learn how to fight, how to hone her power outside of New Orleans, and she would live to see Marcel torn apart. Or she would destroy as many of his regiments before they destroyed her. 

So, it was not Bill that told her that Marcel’s grip on the city had not always been suffocating. She uncovered that truth many years later from Sheila Bennet. The Louisiana heat had Bonnie and Caroline sprawled on Grams’ backyard porch. Although the sun had set hours before, their tank tops and jean shorts did nothing to keep beads of sweat lining their brows. Her best friend had muttered her complaint, so quietly that it must have been magic that made it possible for Grams to hear it from inside. If only they could use a spell, a simple cooling spell. Bonnie’s curls were stuck to her temple as she confided to Caroline that she wondered what it would cost to get the devil out of state for a day. Caroline’s eyes had fluttered close minutes before, but they shot open when Grams answered her granddaughter.  _ You can’t rescind an invitation to the devil.  _

Many years before she had been born, Marcel Gerard had once been welcomed by the city’s hidden supernaturals with hungry eyes. New Orleans had always pulsated with magic, Grams explained as she settled into the seat next to Bonnie. The porch light made shadows dance menacingly and let the girls see the serious glint in the older woman’s eyes. While wolves could weave in and out of the city alongside mundane travelers without so much as a hair raised in suspicion, voodoo was carved into every building’s skeleton and no one could separate it from the oxygen in the air. 

_ What about the vampires? _ Caroline could remember how impossible it felt not to ask. Werewolves and witches may not have liked each other, but they generally shared a distaste for killing humans. She couldn’t imagine that the creatures that live off death could survive and hide en masse, even in the pre-iPhone era. 

The undead danced alongside humans every night, Grams answered her easily. Back then, they were just as careful as the rest of them. They knew when to feed and when to blend in. No one dared to question that it was a human’s world, a cruel and fearful one that had hunted and gutted witches and beasts alike, and everyone else needed to fit in the crooks and crevices if they wanted to survive. There was a strange camaraderie in such maneuvering. However, just because they knew how to knit themselves into the world’s fabric, it hadn’t prevented the straining that came along with it. The number of beings that grew restless and frustrated with the order increased steadily day by day. They could not fathom bending and hiding from humans, when they could so easily overpower them together. 

Marcel understood their restlessness. He met with werewolves and witches alike, stoking the flames of dissatisfaction.  _ Imagine taking the city for us.  _ Werewolves no longer afraid of hunters lurking in the woods after a mysterious sighting or occasional death. Witches unbinding their hands and breathing hexes out in the Quarter like normal hellos. Like all offers from hell, the proposal was delicious and he won everyone’s support. When he overtook the city with an army of hungry newborns, they all averted their eyes to the bloodshed. They ignored the cries of families as the vampires feasted in victory. So much innocent blood had been spilled that it took weeks to scrub the red from the streets. When they finally could live without fear, they told each other that those deaths were a small price for freedom. 

Caroline’s cheeks had suddenly felt cool despite the evening heat and her stomach lurched. Bonnie’s back had straightened like a metal rod had replaced her spine, but Grams merely kept her gaze on the fireflies dancing in the blue-black night.  _ Marcel is a monster, but we welcomed him into our homes.  _

The effects of that choice, a choice made by countless supernatural beings, reverberated like the aftershocks of an earthquake. Sometimes, on particularly self-pitying nights that were paired with one too many shots of vodka, Caroline wondered if all of this was simply penance for that sin. Had they paid back the price? Could anyone? She knew that the bitter black that stained their city’s history could not be erased, but she had to believe that she could change their present. She could not accept anything else. 

That conversation replayed in her dreams during the weeks that followed her incendiary meeting with him. Marcel had held tight to his throne for decades, fighting off collectives that should have destroyed him with ease. For all the pomp and bloodstained glory that came with the Originals, she seriously doubted that Klaus would change anything. Even if he couldn’t die, he would certainly manage to get her killed in the effort.

If there was any consolation to that grim fact, it was that Klaus Mikaelson was all but a myth to her. He did not stroll into her shop after hours with expectant eyes and sharp teeth. Although she occasionally felt that uneasy sensation that someone was staring at her through the broad glass windows, the days felt almost normal. It seemed as if she had passed some test in his eyes and he was more secure than ever in the fact that she would do nothing to disrupt his machinations. 

He underestimated her, that much was abundantly clear. Those dimples had flashed in amusement at her fury as if she were nothing more than a toddler threatening to run away. She hated how she felt exactly like that. When she stopped the flames that night, a good portion of that small forest was singed black and the smoke would have choked a human. Although images of his own charred body in the debris were appealing, she breathed out a hex that slowly fixed her damage and she whispered an embarrassed apology to the clearing. Even without the blackmailing bastard, her temper had always been a sore point and often had her wishing she would bite her tongue more times than not. After that night, she was sure that it would take every shred of strength that she had to get through any interaction without throwing herself at him to try and claw his face to shreds. 

However, daybreak and a good cup of coffee had turned her frustration into precision. She always did her best work when people doubted her, who could forget the amazing job she did at the Miss New Orleans Teen Pageant. Let him continue viewing her as the meek mouse and she could potentially make the biggest play of her life.

Caroline still had no idea what he was looking for, let alone what he was planning, but it didn’t take a genius to understand that it was something that would change New Orleans entirely. Whatever she was helping Klaus locate must be to his benefit. Whatever it was must be immensely powerful for the only hybrid to need it so badly that he kept it secret. Something that would upset, maybe even threaten, Marcel. It had been a lifetime since there had been any semblance of a way to take a shot at the king and Caroline would be damned if she let that fall into anyone’s hands but hers. 

With a renewed vigor, she continued her late hours in the archives with the hope that she could suss out any new details. No matter how many candles she burned through or how many times she read over the same lines, nothing useful came out. On a purely practical level, she had no idea how he expected her to figure anything out with so little to go off. As if just a simple phrase or two would be enough to go off. When she finally admitted that she wasn’t getting anywhere, she realized she would need to be more direct. She wasn’t sure when he would come by again to see her progress, but she was tired of going cross-eyed over the same scripts to no avail. It took another two days until she felt her skin prickle inside the shop. 

It was mid-morning and the last customer had left thirty minutes earlier. Her French pedicure tapped against the line of freshly printed bestsellers and she chewed the inside of her mouth. There wasn’t really any better way to get his attention. It wasn’t like she could text him. Sauntering out to the front of her shop, she opened the door and stood at the entrance. As the bells clinged, she placed her hands on her hips and let her eyes trail across her surroundings. The soft thrum of the city echoed down the empty street. “I need to talk to you,”

Had anyone else walked by then, she would seem slightly unhinged. She let the seconds pass and tapped her foot against the concrete at the continued silence. Letting out a gust of air, she added, “I know you like the whole cloak and dagger routine, but I’d really like to be out of here before midnight.”

Although the hairs on her skin stayed raised, a small part of her wondered if she really was talking to herself. Maybe there was a type of Original-induced insanity in the DSM5 and this was all paranoia. Refusing to feel awkward, she threw another cursory look around her before spinning on her heel and heading back inside. 

She couldn’t help the jump she did when she saw him seated atop the counter. His fingers curled around the edges and his steady gaze gave nothing away. Although, for a moment, she thought she saw an amused curve to his lips. “What is so urgent, love? Call me a skeptic, but you don’t look like you’ve got my answer ready,”

What was it that people always said? Before giving into anger, count to four? Or was it ten? After settling on eight, Caroline began, “If I’m going to figure this out, I need more information. Some context so I know what’s relevant because “ _ Where the sky slips and sleeps _ ” has been less than ideal to work with.”

He took a few moments to respond and spent them looking intently at her. Trying to emulate a picture of serious innocence, she met his gaze with an arched brow. Finally, he said, “What information do you need?” 

She swallowed the bubbling excitement in her throat, “What is this supposed to lead to?” He didn’t immediately answer her, but the lack of opposition made her bold. Leaping to fill the air with anything that could sway him to see the strategic use in sharing some detail, she added, “There are countless stories about cursed objects, sacrificial lands and forbidden or long lost ingredients. You could interpret half of them to tie to those two lines, but even then, it would get you nowhere. Finding the answer means following the trail in the story, but I have no idea what the story even is,”

Tilting his head, he answered, “You’re right,”

His admission surprised her. It felt like too surreal of a win after weeks of discontent. When he didn’t elaborate, though, her brow furrowed, “Are you going to tell me now?”

Klaus’ attention drifted to the staircase behind the front desk. She wondered if he had tried to break in after their introduction, to see if the protection charm was genuine. It would have scorched his skin like pure sunlight and the image of him hissing with burnt skin brought another small joy to her. “No, I think it’s best if we wait.”

Another long night.  _ Perfect.  _ “Okay, I’ll be here until -- “

“8 o’clock,” He interrupted softly, as if he were a normal man extending an invite to a normal woman, “You will come to my flat,”

Fear and shock had become her second usual cocktail of emotions, following anger. He was asking her to go, alone, unable to use her magic, to his home. It didn’t take supernatural knowledge to know that walking into a vampire’s den was a rookie mistake. Even Hollywood got that message, loud and clear. The concerned part of her started to whisper, maybe he wanted to dispose of her, torture her because of lack of progress. Someone with centuries of experience probably had a horrifying creativity when it came to torture. 

“Wouldn’t someone see?” Wouldn’t Marcel see? This didn’t add up with what she assumed. If he didn’t care about Marcel seeing her, then maybe this was just a strange personal interest. Nothing related to New Orleans, nothing to change anything except activate her status as an organ donor. 

He shrugged her concerns away, “He’s preoccupied tonight and I’ll make sure his spies have no memory of anyone stopping by,”

He wouldn’t risk a confrontation with Marcel, but he just as easily could want privacy in order to flay her alive in his creepy nightcrawler residence. She pursed her lips and didn’t bother to hide her discontent with his offer.

Watching her unenthused musings, he put a hand against his heart in faux offense. He could afford levity when it wasn’t his flesh on the line, “You cannot seriously believe that I would go to all this trouble just to kill you in my own apartment?”

“Right,” She huffed, “As if blood stains on the carpet would be a deterrent,”

The answering smile did nothing but remind her that she would gouge out his eyes first if she had the chance, “Have a little faith, love. I’ll see you at eight.”

Leaving her no time to argue, he was gone in the next breath. The quiet gust of wind and a shred of paper fluttering softly over the counter were the only signs that he hadn’t completely dissolved. Although the thought of Type O diet brought bile to her throat, she couldn’t help being envious of vampiric speed. She caught the note before it reached the bottom and read the flourishing script with a grimace.  _ Of course, he lived in the Quarter. _

***

Spring had come slowly and it left in a blink of an eye. The early summer sun was growing greedy, clawing at early night skies and the city cheered it on. She would have preferred a bitter cloak of darkness as she crossed over into enemy lines. Black night would suit her somber shoulders and wary gaze better. 

Although he seemed certain that she would walk in unobserved, she never felt more vulnerable without her powers. With his likely centuries old bank account, an apartment in the Quarter should be the least he could afford. It was a small blessing that the building wasn’t in the heart of it. As she slipped past, crowds of tipsy humans were already winding their way over the streets and sidewalks. It was too early for Marcel and his followers to prowl. They preferred the late night lights and most witches had the good sense to avoid the city center past midnight. Even during the day, it was a challenge to sense the undead in the Quarter. Human bodies give off strong waves of heat that clouded the almost tangible otherness of the vampires. 

Klaus’ building nestled between other ornate residential properties. Like most buildings, its Spanish architecture was kept intact and gorgeous, large ferns hanging above each balcony. The apartment buzzer gave no indication that anyone lived there. Although, she could admit, it would be a bit mundane for him to have his name etched in like a regular bachelor. Before ringing the bell for the top floor, she noticed the front doors were open. 

Riding the elevator felt like the most claustrophobic experience of her life. Her neckline rubbed like steel wool against her skin and the flash of each passing level tightened the fists at her side. Someone should know that she is here, damned him and his secrecy. Bonnie had already left for a dinner with Grams that Caroline had wiggled her way out of with a half-mumbled excuse about an issue with the online inventory system. Nearing a month and half of an erratic schedule, she knew she could only avoid Bonnie’s interrogation for so long. She had lucked out that exam period kept her friend just as overworked, but the once-over that her friend had given her before leaving reminded Caroline that time was running out. She had no idea what she could say and now all she wanted was to send her location. Although, she had no idea what that would change. 

The doors finally opened and she let out her breath. 

Obviously, he wouldn’t be living like a Transylvanian warlord. She ignored the disappointed part of her that had expected something more archaic. After centuries, he must be able to afford a castle or two. Albeit there was no reason for an Original to live as if it were the past. Regardless, it wasn’t completely irrational for her to freeze at what she saw.

His flat was a mansion in itself with three floors, clearly unlisted. Slick leather furniture sat atop bright cherrywood floors that filled a wide open space. Clearly a fan of the old style, he had kept the alternating exposed brick and long faded yellow concrete walls. Art, housed in avant garde frames with fine etchings of flora and mythical fauna, covered parts of the walls. Each piece reflected dark shades, alternating images of fury and gloom. There were no hooks on the ceiling to string up victims and whatever torture devices seemed to be hidden away from public viewing. It was equal parts intimidating and alluring, so much so that she didn’t realize that she had walked deeper into the first floor until she nearly bumped into an ornate sofa. 

“You seem disappointed,” The idle tone came with a wave of goosebumps on her forearms. Smelling like something woody and expensive, he had his legs crossed in front of him as he leaned on that same sofa’s armrest. He followed her eyes as they ran across the apartment. 

“That’s one way to put it,” She assents quietly, before shaking off whatever intrigue had taken over. “Shall we?” 

“Of course,” A long arm gestured towards one of the many doors lining the back wall and he let her lead the way, falling silently in step with her. 

The room had floor-to-ceiling shelves, lined with books that seemed just as ancient as the ones in her basement. From Hamilton to Blake, their worn bindings with faded fonts piqued her interest and brought a strong temptation to see how far back his collection. In the middle of the room, a wide mahogany desk had two stacks of hardbacks and a series of fragile parchments with unrecognizable languages and imagery. It didn’t take much for her to put everything together.

“So, you brought me here to pick up books,” Her eyebrow arched as she turned her attention to him. He had positioned himself at the opposite end of the table, settling into the seat there, “You could have just dropped these off,”

“These books aren’t for you to take back to your armored archives, love,” He shook his head, “You raised a fair point. You need more sources, and I’m providing them. These should have what you need to learn about what we are looking for. I have more, but I think this is enough to start with,” 

“Which is...” The length of her hair brushed against her arm as she tilted her head expectantly.

He matched her motion, adding a half-smile that was much too soft for him. “A long time ago, there was once a handmaiden. Very beautiful, she was a handmaiden to an equally stunning witch named Qetsiyah. Qetsiyah and this girl had spent much of their lives together, practically since their birth. Their bond was unbreakable, until the handmaiden fell in love. Knees deep, all-consuming love. Another story would have ended there, but no good comes from falling in love with Qetsiyah’s lover. As I’m sure you know, jealousy can be quite a nasty thing. Envy and fury blend so deliciously well. Simply imagine jealousy from the most powerful witch of all time, someone banished from most of your books because of her cruelty and the fear she instilled in her brethren,”

The blood dropped from Caroline’s face because no one can react well to finding out another bedtime monster was once flesh and bone. She had never learned her name, but now it felt like she had known it all her life. Qetsiyah. That ghoul that her mother had warned her about becoming when she came home from school in tears and swearing to burn down Katie Mitchell’s house. A forgotten god that her father had once referenced with his own envy for some way to stop being powerless. 

“Naturally, Qetsiyah did not take betrayal lightly and killed both the handmaiden and lover. Strung them upside down and let them bleed out while their loved ones burned on stakes in front of them. Before she did all her artisanry, she cast a very powerful and very important curse. To get at that curse, I need you to find the handmaid's body.”

Ignoring the slight shake in her hands, she leaned forward and clasped them around the ornate edge of the desk. “Why?” 

“Now, see that is a bit above your paygrade, love” He mirrored her pose with mock human speed and she resisted the instinct to jerk back at his new proximity. A pair of necklaces jingled together underneath the maroon Henley he donned. “Marcel keeps a few men trained on me throughout the week, but they’re much less concentrated come the weekend. That’s when you’ll come here to research without anyone being the wiser.”

She should be sighing in relief at the fact that he hadn’t brought her over to drain her dry. It should have removed the anxiety that had followed her all day. Perhaps learning what this all about should have been a balm to her fried nerves. Instead her grip tightened around the desk, manicured nails pressing painfully into the surface. She wasn’t helping him look for a simple weapon, but truly unredeemable magic that would like damn more than just Marcel. To harness that alone would be Herculean, but to siphon it away from his watchful eyes would be fatal for a single witch. 

And now he wanted her weekends?

“Wouldn’t it be quicker to just give me the book?” They both already knew the answer, but she couldn’t help herself. This demand, because that’s all this was, was just another way for him to flex his control. A long, ominous drag of his claws around her throat, as if this would make her work faster, better. 

With a regretful sigh, his attention shifted to the shelves around them, “I’m a cautious man when it comes to my collection, love,”

_ Not a man at all. _

She could no longer afford any energy to care about how fast her blood rushed through her veins and her fingers couldn’t grip the wood any tighter without breaking her own hands. Klaus’ head tilted downward at them, “And how am I supposed to explain my absences to my family? 

In a long, languorous fashion, he trailed his eyes up from her white knuckles over the deep blue blouse she wore to meet her unhidden anger, “I don’t particularly care what you tell them, but I am not unopposed to eating whoever gets too nosy,”

“These threats are getting a bit repetitive,” She shot back, wishing her words could cut him. Before he could respond or before she antagonized him into a demonstration, she added, “And what will you be doing those days?”

She hated the expressionless stare that he gave her, “Keeping up appearances with the gentry,” 

By now, Caroline knew better than to fight this battle. For all these aches and pains, she would find a way to stop him and any other damned vampire. Better yet, she would paint this entire apartment with their blood, “Fine,”

“Perfect. That’s everything until Friday,” The confirmation sent a shooting headache to her temple. Her hands were throbbing and there was no way this wouldn’t hurt come morning, “Shall I walk you home?” A tone of amusement seeped into the question.

She decided to skip counting to eight. Plastering on a sweet smile, Caroline leaned forward. He didn’t move back and they were maybe three inches apart now. It was the closest she had been to a vampire purposefully in years. While his scent filled her nose again, she ignored the warning bells going off in her head, “I’d rather die,” 

For the first time, she could see a conflict in his expression as he appeared to waver between irritation and amusement at her crass retort. A small victory, but a well-needed one after the day she’s had.

She pulled back from him and started towards the door. 

“Goodnight, Caroline,” His voice followed her out.

She ignored him and the shiver that followed his goodbye. She never wanted to hear her name on his lips again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for staying with me as I work on this series! I planned to update much sooner, but my personal life has become quite busy. I have the next chapter in the works and I can't wait for you to see who will be joining next! The next update will be sooner than this last one. 
> 
> Tell me your thoughts! I appreciate all your comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you think this would be an interesting story to follow, please comment!


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